


And We Say That The World Isn't Dying

by cheshireArcher



Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: Christian Themes, F/M, Hal and Thomas as precious babies, Henry is a good husband and father really he just makes some bad decisions, Implied Child Endangerment, Mary actually knows more about what's going on than people give her credit for okay, Medieval Christianity, Plantagenet A+ issue handling, The Appellant Crisis, This was my first time writing Mary even though I love her, gratuitous Wycliffe for effect, notes and bibliography at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshireArcher/pseuds/cheshireArcher
Summary: September 1388. England is recovering from the aftermath of the Appellant Crisis. Mary de Bohun faces one of its perpetrators: her husband Henry.
Relationships: Mary de Bohun (d. 1394)/Henry IV of England
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8
Collections: Histories Ficathon XI





	And We Say That The World Isn't Dying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettiewittie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettiewittie/gifts).



> For prettiewittie, based on this prompt: 
> 
> **Mary loves her husband. She really does. He just makes it...difficult sometimes.**
> 
> **Based around the Appellants Crisis. Mary watches her husband, brother in law and uncle pick apart the royal household for what seem to be incredibly petty reasons - as she refuses to bite her tongue on the matter.**
> 
> This takes place a little after the Appellant Crisis due to historical necessity, Mary and Henry were apart during the Crisis, Mary staying at Kenilworth and Henry either on campaign against de Vere or in London for the proceedings. Hopefully this still fits your prompt!
> 
> Title from "Last Song" by Jason Webly. Notes and bibliography at the end.

_“Charite is pacient. It is benyngne or of good wille. Charite of envyeth not. It doth not gyle, it is not inblowen with pride, it is not ambyciouse or coveitouse of wirschipis, it seekyth not tho thingis that ben her owne. It is not stirid to wrath it prikith not yvel, it ioyeth not on wickidnesse forsothe. It ioyeth togydre to treuthe, it suffreth alle things, it bileeveth alle thingis. It hopith alle thingis, it susteeneth alle thingis. Charite fallith not doon."_

\- I Corinthians 13:4-8

* * *

Kenilworth, September, 1388

 _Love is patient. Love is kind. …Love does not keep track of wrongs._  
  
Henry is late.  
  
Mary stands at the window, looking out into the night. The infinite blackness is peaceful, the nearly full moon providing just enough light that she can see the woods surrounding the estate. She's not sure what she's looking for-- nothing, if she's honest with herself-- she knows Henry will be in eventually, there's no use watching for him.  
  
She looks back at the psalter open on the window seat. The moonlight is barely enough to see what's on the page in front of her. The book is a precious thing, inherited from her father, with a few additions made for her, including a miniature of Mary herself, dressed in the Bohun arms and English lions being presented to the Blessed Mother by Saint Mary Magdalene. Crammed in at the beginning of the manuscript are four _ego indigna et peccatrix_ prayers to be said before reciting anything else – _I the unworthy and sinful._ She gave up trying to read it long before it grew dark, however, when she realized she'd read the same prayer three times without absorbing a word. Even her devotions are not enough to ease her mind.

“Breathe into my heart that interior sweetness of spirit with which you inspired your child David and open, o Lord, the ear of my soul to the voice of your love,” she whispers. She knows every word of this prayer, without even having to look at the psalter, though the stately lettering on the parchment feels comforting whenever she looks at it. “A comfort in adversity, a counsel in time of doubt, a caution in time of prosperity and a cure in time of sickness.”  
  
Henry has returned home triumphant and yet part of her does not feel as proud as she should be. How can she, when he’s been involved in the shedding of so much blood, she wants to think, though the rational part of her knows _that’s his job. To protect the kingdom and his family’s claims no matter what the cost._  
  
"Mary?"  
  
She turns around to see Henry standing in the doorway to their apartments.  
  
"You didn't have to wait up for me," Henry says, crossing over to her. "You could have gone to bed."  
  
"I couldn't sleep," Mary says, feeling him wrap his arms around her and pull her close. It's the truth, technically. She hasn’t even tried. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“I have to, yes,” Henry replied. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.” He’s been summoned to the new session of Parliament, which has just opened at Cambridge. It feels strange to hold another session so soon after the last—it’s been just three months since the last meeting, which in itself had lasted an unprecedented four months—but considering the state of the kingdom, it is not all that surprising.

“I just hope it won’t be like last time,” Mary says, wrapping her arms around Henry and resting her head on his chest.  
  
“I’m sure it won’t be,” Henry replies. “Don’t worry.”

_Don’t worry._

Something in Mary snaps. She pulls away to look at Henry, as if she doesn’t know him. “How can I not worry, Henry?” She asks, quietly. “I haven’t seen you for nearly a year and so much has happened and you’re leaving _again…_ ”

“I’ll be fine,” Henry says. “It’s all over.”

 _It_ was the political crisis that had begun the year before with the formation of a league of first three, later five lords who brought appeals of treason against members of the king’s inner circle. The Appellants had included her brother-in-law the Duke of Gloucester – uncle to both Henry and King Richard; her own uncle, Richard, Earl of Arundel; Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick; Thomas Mowbray, Earl of Notingham; and her husband Henry, Earl of Derby. They had said their purpose was to get rid of the bad influences on the king. In the end they had either dismissed, banished, or killed far more than they had initially charged—in the beginning those appealed were Robert de Vere – Earl of Oxford and particular favorite of the king; Michael de la Pole, the former Chancellor, who had already been impeached and removed from office the previous year; Robert Tresilian, the Chief Justice; Nicholas Brembre, the former Mayor of London; and Alexander Neville, Archbishop of York.

That had been in November, 1387. Mary, who had been in London, took the children—year-old Hal and newborn Thomas—to Keniworth, one of her father-in-law’s properties in Warwickshire. From there she watched the gathering storm.

It had ended with bloodshed. While the military campaign they had launched against Oxford in December had ended rather quickly with his army’s desertion and his escape at Radcot Bridge, the real retribution would be dispensed from the Appellants’ trials. Tresilian and Brembre would be brutally executed in February, and in May, despite pleas from Henry, Mowbray, the Duke of York, and even Queen Anne; Gloucester, Arundel, and Warwick had executed Sir Simon Burley, the king’s beloved tutor. That had been the beginning of the end, and the parliament called earlier that year in order to carry out the Appellants’ will was closed in June, with attention turning to Scotland and largely acting as if nothing had happened.

_It was all over._

“Do you think Richard will listen to you now?” Mary asks.

“The men who misled him are gone,” Henry replies. “He’s no longer under the influence of men like de Vere.”

“Are you sure force was the right way to get his attention?” Mary’s not sure what’s come over her, but she now finds were speaking the things that she’s thought for the past year. “Now he’ll be happy to listen to your uncles and the other lords, after you’ve killed so many of his friends?”

“I didn’t—you know I tried to save Burley. And I didn’t want anyone to die.” Henry’s voice hardens.

Mary looks aside. For those horrible months it felt as if everything was dying. “I know,” she says. “You’re a good man, Henry.” She means it. “I just—I just wondered why Gloucester and Arundel and Warwick had to pursue their appeal the way they did. All just because they didn’t like Richard’s circle.”

“It was more than they didn’t like them,” Henry says, his voice now a little less harsh. “They were effectively traitors to the king, even if they weren’t outright against the king. Their misguidance was a danger to him and the kingdom.”

“And they threatened the power and prestige of the other lords.”

“Their incompetence and bad guidance threatened the whole kingdom,” Henry continues. “You have to understand that, Mary.”

“I do!” Mary replies, feeling insulted. She turns to look out the window, at the brilliant moon above. “I’m not a child, Henry.”

Henry ignores that. “And they did threaten our holdings—de Vere was in a position to strike against Lancastrian territory, and with my father absent I had to do something.”

“It seems very petty, Henry.” She says finally. “Wasn’t it enough you drove de Vere out of the country? He was already humiliated, and he’s now been sentenced to death _in absentia_. Is that enough to settle your jealousy of the man?” It’s the harshest thing she’s ever said to him.

“I am _not_ jealous of Oxford,” Henry replies, gritting his teeth. “He was a bad influence on the king—”

“And you’re a better influence on the king,” Mary says. “Henry. Regardless of whether de Vere and de la Pole and Burley and the others were bad influences on the king, do you think Richard will easily forgive what’s been done to them? And do you think he’ll like you better now?” She steps away from the window and, not looking at Henry, crosses over to the door to the children’s nursery. “I’m afraid this isn’t the end,” she says, looking back at her husband. “I want to believe you did the right thing. I just…”

“Mary, I did the right thing. It may have been unpleasant but it was for the good of the kingdom. And for our children.”

“That’s what I worry about,” Mary says, opening the door. She peers in. The boys—Hal is now two years old, Thomas a year old—are sound asleep at last after a busy day. They’re so precious. She and Henry both love them more than she ever imagined you _could_ love someone. “Don’t you realize that your war put them at danger too? That they could have lost you? And what if things get worse when they’re older, and you and the king still disagree and are still fighting? Are you proud to put them on the line?”

Henry can’t look at her. Instead he looks at his sleeping children. He doesn’t want to admit it but she’s right—things could have gone worse than they did and the children could have been in danger—he wouldn’t put it past Holland—

“Things have changed, Mary. The main purpose of this parliament is to restore law and order,” he hears himself saying. “I want to protect Henry and Thomas, that’s why I sent you and the children here last year.”

“How was leaving them protecting them?” Mary demands. “How is you putting your life on the line like this protecting them?”

“This was for their benefit—for their future! So they can inherit what’s rightfully theirs as heirs to the house of Lancaster. And so they don’t have to live under their cousin’s tyranny or anyone who thinks to follow his example!” Henry snaps back. His heart sinks when he sees Mary, her face blank like she is trying to decide how to feel.

“I’m sorry for that outburst, I shouldn’t be so harsh,” Henry admits.

“I understand.”

You needn’t worry.” He hesitates, then puts his arms around her. To his relief, she leans in and wraps her arms around him too.

“Of course I’m going to worry,” Mary says, sounding tired. “I’m your wife. That’s my job.”

“You do well at it,” Henry says, almost laughing. He’s more than a little shaken—he’s never seen her so close to anger and she’s never talked to him like this before. “I’ll send you word of everything that happens in parliament,” he promises. “Sir William will keep you apprised. And I’ll be back as soon as I can, I swear.”

Mary says nothing, just nods and buries her face in Henry’s chest. She remembers the words of Saint Paul the Apostle to the church at Corinth, on the attributes of charity – she must be patient, be kind, not keep track of Henry’s wrongs, or those of her uncle and brother-in-law. She hears Henry tell her to try going to bed, he’ll be in later. He only lets her go after kissing her a few times, and for a moment everything is right in the world. Until he leaves again and she’s left with her thoughts and fears that something has begun that he cannot finish.

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes**
> 
> Mary de Bohun, despite being the wife of one king and the mother of another has largely faded into the background of 14th century England. Researching her without access to resources like the UK National Archives, where a lot of pertinent documents are held, proved difficult. This fic...took a long time to get to what it is now, let's just say. Hopefully it was worth it.
> 
> As mentioned in the opening notes, I had to deviate slightly from the original prompt because while doing research I found out that Henry and Mary were not physically together during the Appellant Crisis. As mentioned in the story, Mary was at Kenilworth, though she communicated frequently with Henry, often through a servant of their friend Sir William Bagot. I wasn't able to figure out a fictional situation where they're in each other's company during the Crisis, so I ended up setting it after it, which hopefully wasn't too much of a change. Most of my information about Henry's whereabouts and involvement in the Crisis came from Chris Given-Wilson's Yale Monarchs bio and Ian Mortimer's bio _The Righteous King_ (which despite its glaring bias has some excellent information).
> 
> The prayer indeed comes from Mary's psalter, Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Auctarium D.4.4, and the translation is from Given-Wilson's book. The description of the psalter and its contents is from Jeremy Catto's essay "The Prayers of the Bohuns," which has a transcription of the original Latin. The verse at the beginning of the story is I Corinthians 13: 4-8, as found in London, British Library MS Egerton 618, a "Wycliffe Bible" owned by Mary's brother-in-law the Duke of Gloucester (this is also the earliest known copy of the Bible in English). While Mary was certainly no Wycliffite, and we don't know if she had any thoughts on vernacular scripture, I included it as a sort of epigraph as my one indulgence for literary effect. The transcription is mine.
> 
> **Bibliography**
> 
> **Primary**
> 
> London, British Library MS Egerton MS 618 f.119v.  
>   
> Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Auctarium D.4.4 f.iiiv. Translation in Given-Wilson, Chris. _Henry IV_. Yale English Monarchs. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2016, 79-80.
> 
> **Secondary**
> 
> Catto, Jeremy. “The Prayers of the Bohuns.” In _Soldiers, Nobles and Gentlemen: Essays in Honour of Maurice Keen_ , edited by Peter Coss and Christopher Tyerman, 112–25. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2009.  
>   
> Given-Wilson, Chris. _Henry IV_. Yale English Monarchs. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2016.  
>   
> Mortimer, Ian. _Henry IV: The Righteous King_. Rosetta Books, 2014. Kindle Edition.


End file.
